fugue
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: NOTICE: due to personal reasons this story is on hiatus. I apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there, uh, wolflets? I don't know if there's a fandom name or anything but I feel like there should be. Anyway. Here I am with a brand-new story. This was a prompt from LoginOrSignUp, which I was very grateful for because it got me out of a writing slump and back into writing Stydia multi-chaps (as opposed to intended one-shots that spiral out of control. prediction, anyone?).**

**So. This is set after 3B, and ignores all of S4. There are a couple changes - Ethan and Isaac never left the pack, for example - but most of it should become clear as you go. The basic prompt was that Lydia's not coping after the deaths of Allison and Aiden, but the rest of the pack is too busy to notice so she slowly starts slipping away, and then... well, you'll see.**

**As always, warnings apply: not a happy story, lots of angst and a little bit of gore, etc. There will be 22 chapters in this story, and they're all pre-written (yay). It will alternate between Stiles and Lydia, who are the main focuses of this story.**

**_Stydia is endgame_, but it starts off with Stalia, as requested. Since I'm still ambivalent about Malia, I tried to do justice to her character and treat her fairly, but this is my first time writing for her and I'm still getting the hang of it. ****The story's heavy on the Lydia/Kira friendship, but most of the other regulars make appearances (including some you might not expect). You'll also find hints of Scira (yay), mentions of Scallison (sob), and a fair bit of Stalia (sigh).**

**Anyway. I think that's about all you need to know. I love feedback, so if you like the story enough to follow or favorite, then surely you can spare a minute to leave a review. I hope to see you all soon for the next chapter. Now, let's get started.**

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"Lydia, look out!"

The warning comes too late and Lydia finds herself flung against the wall and then pressed up against it, claws wrapping around her throat and an all-too-familiar fear shooting through her. She stares into the bright blue eyes of the werewolf pinning her to the wall and she forces herself to look past the fear. Weakness. She needs to find the werewolf's weakness. Her mind works frantically, made even more difficult by the rapidly depleting oxygen supply due to the werewolf's grip.

Suddenly the weight around her throat lessens, and in a split second it disappears. The werewolf tumbles to the ground and Lydia sucks in a deep breath, her lungs aching and her neck throbbing. Ethan is standing above the other werewolf, his claws out but his face completely human. He glances over at Lydia, a question in his eyes.

"Thanks," she pants, rubbing her neck. Even though her legs are killing her – she really needs to stop wearing heels when they go to confront supernatural evil – she stands tall, not willing to admit how terrified she'd been. How terrified she always is these days.

Ethan dips his head in acknowledgement, and waits for Lydia to duck out of the way before he turns his attention back to the other wolf in front of him. Lydia darts through the battle, dodging claws and fangs and bodies being thrown across the courtyard, her eyes searching the darkness for the person she's looking for.

Before she can find him, somebody grabs her shoulder and spins her around. She bites back a cry of surprise as she sees who it is.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks urgently, his eyes bright with worry – for _her_, even though blood is actually dripping down his face.

In the time it takes Lydia to answer, a cut above Scott's eye knits itself together and heals, not even leaving a scar. "I'm fine," she says quickly. The sounds of battle rage around them, but Scott's attention is all on her. It never ceases to surprise her, the way Scott can make everybody feel like the most important person in the world, even when there's a bloody werewolf war going on just feet away. "Where are the others?"

"They went that way," Scott says, pointing across the courtyard. Lydia tries not to feel sick at the amount of blood that's splattered on the ground between here and there. "Go," he says, sensing her hesitation. "We can handle everything here. Just find her."

If it had been anyone else telling her what to do, Lydia would hesitate, maybe even argue. But it's Scott, and he's her alpha. And even if he weren't, she would listen to him anyway.

Scott's gaze drifts down, taking in the claw marks on her neck. He even reaches for her, like he's about to take her pain, but she jerks away.

"I'm _fine_," she says again. A sudden howl from the battlefield causes Scott to start. "It's okay," Lydia says, letting her hand rest briefly on his shoulder. "Go help them. We'll find the girl."

After only a slight hesitation, Scott nods. Lydia watches as he sprints back into the battle, taking out a werewolf who had been advancing on Isaac. Then she turns and skirts around the edge of the violence, trying not to slip in the blood. It occurs to her that this has become her life – slipping in blood, watching her friends get hurt, finding herself on the outskirts again. This is all too painfully familiar.

Like many of their plans, this one had gone awry. A rival wolf pack had ventured into Beacon Hills about two weeks ago, and polite conversation had been ruled out of the equation when the alpha had attacked Stiles one day after lacrosse practice. Scott had rallied his own pack and tracked down the rivals, only for it to end in an ambush. A bloodbath. Lydia hadn't been there – they'd decided to keep her out of it, for her safety – but for the duration of it, she'd felt a horrible sensation, like she was about to scream. Any one of her friends could have died that day.

And now here they are again, after a series of increasingly violent encounters, and they all know this will be the last one. Scott has to stake his claim and force the others out of his territory, or risk losing everything. And the pack, as always, stands behind him. This time, though, Lydia's actually included.

Although she wants to interfere, she knows she's never really been one for fighting. She's the brains, the banshee, the one who warns them of impending death and tells them how foolish their latest plan is. She's not the one in the thick of it, the one with the weapons and the lion's heart. No, that had been Allison.

As she reaches the other side of the battlefield she hears a horrible shriek – someone in pain. She spins around in time to see Kira fall to the ground. Instinctively she steps forward, but Scott swoops in to check on her, warding off the wolf that had knocked her down. This isn't her place, so Lydia hurries on.

The alley is dark, and somehow more sinister than the open violence of the courtyard. Her heels click on the pavement as she jogs down the alley, her eyes wide open and scanning the gloom. About halfway down, she hears another shriek, but this one comes from up ahead. It's unfamiliar, too, and as she skids to a stop she wonders just when it became normal for her to recognize the sounds of each of her friend's cries of pain and fear. Sometimes she even forgets what their laughs sound like.

Fear momentarily takes over, but Lydia forces her tired legs to move and carries on down the alley, almost at a dead run. It branches off at the end and she glances left then right – and sees yet another werewolf, this time crouching above a young girl. This is it, the reason they were here. In order to force a confrontation, the rival pack had threatened a stranger – someone completely and utterly innocent. They'd known Scott would never let that happen, but they hadn't counted on his entire pack following him into battle. But they did, because it's what they do, what they've always done. No matter what the cost.

The werewolf glances up and sees Lydia, and even without the glowing red eyes she can tell that he's the alpha. He's bigger, stronger, and a whole lot more terrifying than the rest of the pack. It might be her imagination, but Lydia thinks she can see blood literally dripping from his fangs. She freezes where she is, wondering where the hell the others are. She might be a genius, but she's not a warrior. She can't take on the alpha by herself.

But she doesn't have to, because there's suddenly a wild cry and something comes hurtling out of the shadows behind the alpha. Lydia watches as Malia hurls herself at the alpha, knocking him to the ground. The young girl, the alpha's hostage, lets out a startled scream and scrambles out of the way. Since the alpha is occupied, Lydia uses the opportunity to sneak around him and get to the girl.

"You're okay," she murmurs to the girl, who can't be older than seven or eight. She's got big brown eyes, glistening with tears, and she's looking up at Lydia with so much hope that it breaks her heart. "You're okay," she says, holding the girl to her. Out of harm's way, for now.

Malia may not have a handle on her powers yet, but she's still got her wild animal instincts, which seem to be serving her well. She's also quicker, and is managing to avoid the worst of the blows. But she's still getting knocked about a bit, and Lydia finds herself flinching with every blow. The little girl is whimpering, holding onto the front of Lydia's blouse with a clenched fist. Lydia keeps muttering soothing nonsense to her, waiting until there's an opening for her to get her out of there.

Lydia's so focused on the scene in front of her that she doesn't notice someone coming up behind her – not until she feels a hand on her shoulder. She jumps, almost letting go of the girl, but there's something familiar about the touch.

"It's okay," Stiles says quickly, crouching down beside her.

She's about to ask where he's been, but one look at him is enough to answer her question. There's a bruise blossoming on his temple and his eyes are slightly unfocused, like he'd been knocked out and only just come to. The edges of the alley are littered with garbage and darkened by shadows, so it's not surprising she hadn't seen him before now.

Although she doesn't say anything, Lydia feels a wave of relief in response to Stiles' presence. They haven't really spoken in the months since Allison died, but she still considers him one of her best friends. And although the rest of the pack seems to trust Malia, Lydia doesn't – not yet – and so she feels a lot better knowing she's not alone here with her. It's not that Lydia thinks Malia would do something deliberately against her; she's not evil, and she's not even mean, not really. She just doesn't understand the way the human world works, and she's just as likely to fight by their side as to abandon them the second they become a liability.

"That looks pretty bad," Stiles says.

Lydia looks over at him, ready to assure him that she's fine and the claw marks on her neck are the worst of her injuries, but then she realizes he's not even looking at her. Instead he's looking at the young girl – _Cathy_, says the sun-shaped name badge pinned to her chest – who's still whimpering softly. Lydia hadn't noticed before, but there's quite a nasty gash down one of Cathy's arms.

"Here," Stiles says, ripping part of his shirt off and wrapping it around the wound.

Cathy lets go of Lydia and starts holding onto Stiles instead. Lydia shifts her gaze back to the fight, in time to see the alpha fling Malia off him and sprint back down the alley, evidently eager to join the fray again. Malia gets to her feet, growling, and she wipes a smear of blood from her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Lydia calls out to her.

The coyote turns to her, and Lydia can't help but feel a shiver of fear at the wild look in her eyes. "I'm fine," she says shortly, but there's still something close to a growl in her voice.

"Can I – can I help at all?" Lydia asks tentatively.

Malia shakes her head, already moving down the alley after the alpha. "Just stay out of the way," she calls over her shoulder. Lydia knows it's meant to be friendly advice, but it sounds like a command – almost like a threat.

As soon as Malia disappears from sight, Lydia turns back to Stiles and Cathy. "We should get her out of here," Lydia says, starting to help Cathy to her feet.

"I've got it," Stiles says, taking over. Cathy clings to him, leaving Lydia holding empty air. She clenches her fists instead. "How is everyone?" he asks as he pauses to readjust the makeshift bandage on Cathy's arm.

"Nobody's dead yet, so I'm counting that as a success." Lydia meant it as a joke, a kind of gallows humor, but it comes out much too dark.

Stiles doesn't seem to find it funny, and he even seems to pull Cathy closer to him. He bends down so that he's on the little girl's level, meeting her eyes. "I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

She nods mutely and Stiles straightens up, taking her hand in his. Lydia stays where she is as the other two start to walk down the alley.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asks, feeling, not for the first time, slightly useless.

Stiles glances at her over his shoulder, but he doesn't slow down. "Just… stay out of the way, okay?"

Then they're gone, leaving Lydia alone. Yet again.

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**I hope you liked it, and don't forget to review. See you next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hiya wolflets, and thanks for the response to the first chapter. Since I've finished writing this already I figured I may as well update fairly regularly, so until further notice I'll be posting up a new chapter every Tuesday. I'm also going to publish something TW-related every Friday, which could be a chapter of this, an update for 'scarlet', a one-shot, or whatever else takes my fancy, so if you want an extra update show me you're interested. I think that's all I had to say, so thanks again for the reviews, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

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It's chaos when Stiles and Cathy emerge from the alley. Isaac is holding up Kira, who looks like she might have done something to her ankle, and helping her limp away from the battle. Ethan is still fighting with one of the werewolves – it had been quite a big pack – but it looks like he's almost got the other guy beaten. And in the middle of the courtyard, Scott is taking on the alpha. The other wolf is at least twice Scott's size, but Scott isn't a true alpha for nothing. Stiles stays in the entrance to the alleyway, still holding onto Cathy's hand. His eyes scan the area in front of him, and he feels the knot in his chest loosen slightly as he locates Malia.

She's standing a few feet away from Scott and the alpha, and she looks like she wants nothing more than to interfere. But they all know this is Scott's fight, so the pack waits for his signal. Malia catches Stiles' eye and walks over to him, still watching the fight. It's violent – and loud – but it doesn't seem like Scott's in any immediate danger.

When Malia reaches Stiles, she seems mildly surprised to see that he's still with Cathy. It occurs to him that Malia probably expected him to leave her behind. No matter how many times he tries to explain that they don't leave people behind, she doesn't seem to get it. Most of the others have stopped even trying to explain it to her.

Cathy looks up at Malia, something like wonder cutting through the fear in her eyes. "Am I going to be okay?" she asks quietly.

Startled at being addressed, Malia looks at Stiles. He just shrugs, indicating that she needs to handle this one on her own. It's a chance for her to work on her social skills; not an ideal situation, admittedly, but he'll take any opportunity he can get.

"You'll live," Malia says brusquely, turning back to the fight.

If she's upset about the dismissal, Cathy doesn't show it. She stays where she is, and by the way she's holding onto his hand, Stiles can feel that she trusts them. She's terrified, but she's putting her trust in them, believing that they'll get her safely out of here. It's a sobering feeling, especially after everything that's happened. These days Stiles can barely be relied upon to keep himself safe, let alone anyone else.

The fight seems to drag on, and a couple times Stiles even thinks Scott might be beaten. But he just keeps getting up, and Stiles knows why. It's because Scott will never, ever give up. Not when there's innocent lives at stake. The rest of the other alpha's pack has been defeated – not killed, but beaten – and are now slinking around the edges of the courtyard. Even though they're the villains, there's still a kind of code among the werewolves. This last fight is between their alphas, and nobody's going to interfere.

Stiles looks around the courtyard again, making a mental note of the location and condition of all his pack mates. Isaac and Kira are talking quietly over the other side of the courtyard; she's slumped against the wall and he's carefully examining her foot. Ethan had been on his way to join them, but is now standing still and watching the fight. Malia is still in between Stiles and the fight, and if there wasn't such a wild look in her eyes he'd think it's because she wants to protect them. But as much as it pains him, it's because she's hoping she'll get a chance to dive back into battle.

There's someone missing. A vital member of the pack, someone who'd always been the first to jump into battle and the last to leave; leading by example. Never waiting for anyone, even when she probably should have. Stiles looks away, down at Cathy, and reminds himself why they're doing this. They're carrying on Allison's legacy, protecting those who can't protect themselves. It just sucks that they have to do it without her.

A noise from behind him makes him turn around, and his surprise is quickly replaced by a slight tinge of guilt. Lydia comes to a stop beside him, wrapping her arms around herself and watching the battle with wide eyes. He'd almost forgotten about her; normally she isn't involved in pack fights like this, so at times he forgets that she's part of the pack. It's unfair, because without her they wouldn't be able to have advance warning of deaths or be able to figure out the intricate plans of whatever enemy they're facing, but the fact of the matter is that Lydia's not a fighter. She's not a warrior, not like Allison was, and although she's part of the pack, at times it feels like she isn't.

"Where have you been?" he mutters, looking back to the fight.

"Staying out of the way," Lydia snaps, with venom that's as surprising as it is unwarranted.

Before he can say anything more to her, the fight is over. Scott staggers sideways, blood splashed across his face and shirt, but he's triumphant. The other alpha falls to the ground, gasping for breath and sounding like he's choking on blood. But he's not dead, because that's not the code they live by.

Stiles is too far away to hear the exact words Scott is saying, but he knows the speech almost off by heart. Scott is telling the other alpha to leave, and warning him what will happen if he comes back. The other alpha seems to take this on board, because he scrambles to his feet and then stumbles away, hanging his head and not even looking Scott in the eye. He gathers his followers and departs, an ignominious retreat if ever there was one.

Scott stays where he is for a moment, breathing deeply and watching the retreating figures of the other pack. Then he shifts back into his fully human form and turns to his own pack, inclining his head slightly to indicate that they should regroup near him. They do, picking their way carefully across the slick surface. Kira leans on Isaac, and Ethan walks over to help them. Stiles leads Cathy, and Malia falls into step beside them. Lydia is the last to reach them, looking like she'd much rather be somewhere else.

"Are we all okay?" Scott asks, looking around at his pack. He notices Kira and his eyes widen. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," she says quickly, still leaning against Isaac and Ethan. "I'll be fine."

He frowns, like he doesn't quite buy it, but then he sees Cathy. He looks up at Stiles, a silent question clear in his expression.

"She's fine," Stiles says. "Pretty shaken up, and she got cut -"

"Take her to the hospital," Scott orders. "My mom will take care of her."

"I can do it," Ethan offers. "I was already going to take Kira."

The kitsune rolls her eyes slightly. "I told you, I'm fine. I don't need you to drive me to the hospital."

"You're going," Scott says firmly, and that puts an end to that argument.

"Do you want me to go too?" Stiles asks, feeling Cathy's grip on his hand tighten.

Scott considers this for a moment. "No," he says finally. "I want you and Malia to come with me."

"Why?" Malia asks, looking from Scott to Stiles and back again with excitement glimmering in her eyes.

"I want to make sure that pack's really gone," Scott explains. "Isaac, can you go to Derek's and ask him to keep an eye out in case they do come back?"

"Sure." Isaac leaves at once, after shifting Kira's weight entirely to Ethan.

Stiles hands Cathy over to Ethan too; the little girl looks at Stiles in confusion, but after an encouraging nod she goes with the other guy happily enough.

"You sure you can manage that?" Scott asks, his eyes drifting over Ethan, Kira, and Cathy.

"We'll be fine," Kira assures him, managing to put some weight on her foot. She takes Cathy's hand in hers, and, still leaning on Ethan, starts to leave. She pauses after a few steps and looks back at Scott. "Congratulations, by the way. You were awesome out there."

She turns back and keeps walking, so she doesn't see the shy, pleased smile that spreads across Scott's face, seeming at odds with the blood that's still streaked across his skin. Once Kira, Ethan, and Cathy are all safely on their way, Scott turns to the rest of his pack.

"Are you guys ready?" he asks.

Stiles nods and starts to go toward him, but before he can go very far he hears a voice from behind him.

"What about me?"

They all turn to see Lydia still standing there, silent, like she has been this whole time. Stiles had almost forgotten she was there. She's looking at Scott now, and although he knows it's probably just his imagination, it almost feels like she's deliberately ignoring Stiles.

"Are you okay to get home on your own?" Scott asks, his voice gentle even though it's still rough with pain.

Lydia stiffens, and Stiles can't tell if it's fear or indignation. "I can find my own way home," she says, and there's a definite edge to her voice. Her expression softens slightly and she says, "Congratulations, Scott," before she turns on her heel and walks toward her car.

That just leaves Stiles, Malia, and Scott. Standing, not for the first time, in a bloodstained battlefield. Stiles shivers, wishing that he could be the kind of teen whose usual Friday night doesn't involve saving a little girl from a pack of werewolves.

Malia raises an eyebrow. "Are you cold? You're shivering."

"No." Stiles follows Scott, who's started to walk toward the Jeep. Malia jogs a couple steps to catch up, falling into step beside Stiles – like she always does. She's still looking at him questioningly, and although he'd love a little bit of silence, Stiles finds himself explaining. "I'm not cold, I'm – I'm uncomfortable."

The werecoyote frowns. "Did you tie your belt too tightly? I did that one time and -"

"It's not my belt," Stiles says tiredly. Normally he finds Malia's cluelessness endearing, but not tonight. He gestures at the courtyard with one hand as he searches his pockets for his keys with the other. "I meant this. All of this. It's too much like…"

He trails off, but he knows Scott gets it. Malia, however, doesn't. "Too much like what?"

"Like the night Allison died," Stiles says quietly.

This at last seems to get through to Malia, because she doesn't say anything further. They pile into the Jeep, Stiles and Scott in the front and Malia in the back. They know where the other pack's hideout is, so that's their first stop; Scott will be able to tell if they plan on coming back. Although Stiles had craved silence only minutes before, suddenly he finds it oppressive. He starts to make some casual comment about the weather – something suitably trivial – but he's cut off by a sound from the back.

He glances at Malia in the rear-view mirror, alarmed to see that her face is pale and she's clutching her stomach.

"Malia?" he asks worriedly. "What is it?"

"It's just…" She grimaces, pulling up her shirt to reveal a cut about two inches long and almost half as wide.

Scott exhales slowly. "That looks pretty bad."

"It's not too bad," Malia says, but even Stiles, without the help of any sort of werecreature super-sense, can tell she's lying. "It should heal soon, right?"

"Yeah," Scott says, although he doesn't sound sure. They still haven't figured out the whole werecoyote thing yet – Malia doesn't seem to heal quite as quickly as they do, and she hasn't been having trouble controlling her transformations on the full moon. Well, any more trouble than she does on any other day, anyway.

They fall silent, but Stiles' mind is whirling.

After a while, Malia speaks again. "Why did you want to save that girl so much?"

Scott shares a look with Stiles, and then he twists in his seat so he's facing Malia. "Because it was the right thing to do," he says simply.

Stiles can see Malia turning this over in her mind. "How do you know what's right and what's wrong?" she asks.

Scott turns back to the front, giving Stiles a look that clearly says _you're on your own._

"You can feel it," Stiles says slowly, knowing that he's probably the last person on earth who should be teaching Malia about morality and being a good person. "If something's right, you'll know it."

The same goes for when something's wrong, which explains why Stiles still feels so… empty. But he has his friends to think about – the pack – so he just grits his teeth and keeps driving, and tries not to notice that he has dried werewolf blood on his hands. For the third freaking time this week.

Sometimes being the only human in a pack of supernatural creatures really sucks.

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**Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next time.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi wolflets. Anyone as scared as I am by that mid-season trailer? After last season I'm so not ready for any of this. Anyway. Thanks for all the reviews, guys. Be prepared to be mad at/feel sorry for everyone in turns during this story, but stick with me because I promise it's all leading up to something. And I'm trying to keep everyone in character, so they do have reasons for how they're acting - and don't worry, they'll get called out for it. So this story will have drama, angst, and my usual level of blood and violence, so I hope it has something for everyone. As always, reviews are more than welcome, as are prompts, so don't be scared to let me know what you think. Enjoy (?) the chapter.**

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It's alarming how quickly this has become a routine. Lydia's lost count of the times it's happened, although she knows it's been at least twice a week since they defeated the nogitsune. It's such a regular occurrence that she's not even surprised when she opens her eyes and finds herself in the middle of the cemetery rather than tucked away in bed at home. She remembers going home after the fight, and she remembers getting ready for bed. And although she'd rather not, she also remembers taking off her shirt only to find a gash running down her side, from the bottom of her ribs to the top of her hip. She can't pinpoint exactly when she got it, but it had definitely been during the fight. And god, it stings.

But she's used to pain by now, as well as mind-numbing terror and mortal danger, so she'd just cleaned it up and gone to bed. And now she's standing in the graveyard, in her pajamas, and she can't remember getting here. The wound on her side is throbbing, but she ignores that as she looks around the cemetery. Although she's sure she's alone, it feels almost like there's someone watching her. It's dark, but the sky on the horizon is lightening, like it's close to dawn.

Her mind flashes back to a moment just like this, before she'd even really become aware of her banshee powers. She'd been sleepwalking and woken up on the side of the road, and she'd done the first thing she could think of – she'd called Allison. And Allison, bless her heart, had shown up not more than two minutes later and picked her up, no questions asked. Lydia had talked to her a lot that night, about how confusing and terrifying it all was, because she'd had no idea what was going on. Allison had comforted her, and one of the things she'd said had stuck with her.

_It's always darkest before dawn._

Scientifically speaking, she's not sure of the validity of the statement. But as a metaphor it's proven useful, especially after everything that's happened. It can't always be this dark, so she has to hope it will get brighter at some point. She just doesn't know when.

With a resigned sigh, she starts to pick her way around the tombstones and out of the graveyard. She doesn't know why she keeps turning up here, because as yet she hasn't found a body. And she hasn't screamed, so it's not like anybody's died – well, not recently, anyway. She hasn't told anyone about these late-night wanderings, either. Or at least she hasn't since the first couple, when she'd genuinely been panicked and called Kira to come pick her up.

Kira had come, of course, but then she'd insisted on staying the night with her and making sure she was okay. Then she'd wanted to tell Scott, which Lydia really didn't want to do; he had enough on his plate already without having to worry about her wandering off in the night. So gradually she'd stopped calling Kira, and there was no one else she could really call. She wasn't that close to Ethan or Isaac, she didn't have Allison or even Aiden anymore, and Stiles… well, that ship had sailed a long time ago. She doesn't even know how to talk to him anymore; not that it matters, because he's always with Malia anyway.

It takes Lydia almost half an hour to walk home, so by the time she gets there it's already time to start getting ready for school. It's beautiful at this time of day, which is small consolation for the inconvenience of having to walk through town in her pajamas in the way-too-early hours of the morning. She'd seen the sun rise, but it hadn't filled her with the same kind of peace it used to. It doesn't bring promises of a new day or fresh hope or anything like that; instead it's just another day to get through before she can curl up in her bed and wish the world away. And hope that she doesn't wake up in the cemetery again.

When she shows up at school, she's relieved to see Kira standing by her locker. Her ankle is bandaged, the tips of it poking out above her socks, but it doesn't seem to be causing her much pain. Isaac is beside her, and they stop talking when Lydia comes up to them.

"Well?" she asks, and she doesn't need to elaborate for them to know what she's getting at.

"They're gone," Isaac tells her. "Derek and Peter are tracking them, and they said that they crossed county lines this morning. We shouldn't be hearing from them again."

"Thank god." Lydia leans against the locker, letting out a slow breath and feeling some of the weight lift from her shoulders. Some, but not enough. For a second she debates telling them about waking up in the cemetery again, but that will just bring more questions and concern and everything else that she doesn't want to deal with at the moment. Besides, they've earned a break; she should let them enjoy their victory.

For the rest of the morning Lydia lets herself gets immersed in her schoolwork. It had taken her a while to get back into it, and she'd come dangerously close to failing a couple of tests just after Allison had died. But the teachers had been understanding and allowed her to retake them, and she'd managed to bring her grades back up to almost as good as they were before all this. Now school is more than a distraction – it's the only reason she gets up in the morning. Everyone else has their reasons for waking up and going about their days – Scott has Kira, Stiles has Malia, Ethan's working things out with Danny, and Isaac's been training with Mr Argent. And all Lydia has are nightmares, sleepwalking, and, now, school.

Instinctively she sits by herself at lunch, studying for the History test that's coming up. She's only just started chapter two when someone nudges her pile of books away and sits down beside her. She looks up to see Stiles sliding into the seat beside her, and Malia sitting down across from him. Soon enough the rest of the pack joins them, and Lydia reluctantly tucks her books back into her bag and makes a show of being interested in whatever it is they're talking about.

Predictably, they're talking about last night.

"You're sure you're okay?" Scott is asking Kira.

"For the last time, Scott, I'm fine," she says. "The doctor says that it's only a sprain. Nothing's broken, I promise."

Scott's expression softens and he visibly relaxes, turning his attention to the rest of the pack. "Malia, how about you?"

Halfway through unwrapping a ham and cheese sandwich, Malia looks up. "What about me?"

There's a glint of surprise in her eyes, like she's still not used to being addressed directly. It's reminiscent of the look she gets when she's called on to answer questions in class; Lydia usually steps in with the answer at that point, to deflect attention away from her pack mate. She doesn't know if Malia is grateful or annoyed, but she hasn't said anything so Lydia figures she may as well keep it up.

"You got hurt last night," Scott reminds her, and Lydia looks over at the werecoyote, surprised; she hadn't noticed that she was hurt. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Malia lifts up her shirt, and Lydia can only hope that it's because there used to be some kind of wound on her stomach. Because otherwise she's just a show-off, and Lydia doesn't think she can stomach seeing her and Stiles all over each other in the middle of the cafeteria.

Stiles' face goes red and he tugs Malia's shirt back down. "We're in public," he admonishes gently.

"So?" She raises her eyebrows, looking around the cafeteria. Her gaze returns to Stiles, a question still swimming in her eyes.

"So we don't go taking our clothes off in public," Stiles says patiently, in a voice that makes it clear they've had this conversation before.

Malia mumbles something too low for them to hear, but she doesn't argue the point further. Seemingly satisfied that the werecoyote is okay, Scott turns his attention to Lydia. She really, really wishes he hadn't. For one thing, the werewolves in the group – and Malia, come to think of it – can probably smell her blood and know she's hurt. And for another, they'll be able to tell if she's lying. But he doesn't ask her if she's okay.

"Did you make it home okay?" Scott asks her.

Lydia feels her heart skip a beat, but she makes an effort to steady it. "Yeah," she says, which isn't a lie. She did make it home okay - she just didn't stay there. It occurs to her that Allison would be able to tell she was lying, and would call her out on it. She has a feeling Kira might know she's not telling her the truth, but the kitsune doesn't say anything. Lydia tries to figure out if this makes her more relieved or disappointed.

"Good," Scott says, and Lydia's definitely relieved that he doesn't push the matter. "Isaac, Ethan, you guys okay?"

Once they've established that everyone is okay – as okay as they ever are – they turn their attention back to the fight. Isaac and Ethan compare battle tactics, while Malia listens with apparent interest. Stiles has one arm wrapped around Malia's shoulders, and Kira's leaning her head against Scott's shoulders. Although Lydia was the first to sit at the table, she has the urge to be the first to leave as well. She'd hate to admit it, but she feels out of place, like she's not supposed to be here.

When they start talking about what had happened while Stiles, Malia, and Lydia were off saving Cathy – apparently it had gone downhill very fast, until some fast thinking on Isaac's part had turned the tables again – Lydia takes it as her cue to leave. She murmurs a farewell and slips from the table, and she's not even sure anyone notices.

She finds herself back at her locker, resting with her back against it and her eyes closed. If she concentrates, she can almost hear Allison's voice, her laughter. She can remember a thousand times when they'd stood in this very spot and talked about everything from alphas and druids to boys and clothes. And if she thinks hard enough, she can remember the first time they met. But that inevitably leads to the last time they spoke, and she'd rather not go there.

Lydia opens her eyes, taking in the empty hall around her. She stays where she is until the bell rings, and then she joins the throng of students moving toward their classrooms. She's only taken a couple of steps when she pulls up short, her hand flying to her side. She would give anything to have a werewolf's healing ability, because it feels like someone is literally ripping her side apart.

Her pain must show on her face because a moment later she feels someone say her name in concern, and then gentle hands resting on her shoulders. She expects it to be one of the pack, so she's caught off guard when she looks up to see Danny.

"C'mon," he's saying, guiding her through the crowd, "let's get you to the nurse."

He stays just outside the door while Lydia's in with the nurse, who asks all sorts of questions that Lydia can't answer. She manages to pass it off as an accident, and talks the nurse out of calling the police or the hospital. The nurse dresses the wound and gives her some painkillers, and Lydia emerges from the room feeling slightly better.

Danny makes sure she's okay, and she tries not to feel hurt by the fact that it's him, and not a member of the pack, who noticed that she wasn't. By the time she makes it to class the lesson's almost halfway over. Danny speaks to the teacher on her behalf, and the teacher just nods in sympathy at her. She takes her usual seat, automatically glancing at the one beside her – which stands empty now, out of some unspoken respect or awkwardness. She's not sure which, and she doesn't really care.

Up the front, Malia and Kira try to catch her eye, but she ignores them and focuses on the work in front of her. She's exhausted, from her midnight wandering and from the fight last night, and the painkillers already feel like they're working off. She'd like nothing better than to go home and go back to bed, but that's not the kind of person she is. It's not the kind of person Allison was. She's going to keep going, because that's the person she wants to be; the kind who deserves to be in the pack, the kind who doesn't give up.

Maybe it is darkest just before the dawn, but at this rate it feels like dawn is years away.

And Lydia's not sure she can last that long.

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**Don't ask how Danny managed to sneak his way into this scene, because he wasn't meant to be in this story at all. But he's just so sweet I couldn't resist.**

**Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next week.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Consider me content because for once the show delivered the recommended dose of Stydia (and they hugged! Actual physical contact, guys!). So yeah, I'm a happy little Hufflepuff. And it's actually good timing because this chapter has a fair bit of Stalia, but I'm hoping you guys can stick with it anyway. Thanks as always for the reviews, and I'm glad my story's apparently living up to expectations. Here's the next chapter, don't forget to review, etc.**

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A week after the fight with the other werewolf pack – who seem to have hightailed it out of Beacon Hills as fast as their little werewolf asses could move – things have started to go back to normal. They're falling back into one of their periods of relative quiet. Relative meaning that there's no supernatural evil trying to kill them all. But there's plenty to keep Stiles busy, including all of the normal teen things he used to desperately want. He's not sure why he ever thought that homework and tests were so interesting, but after battling supernatural evil for months they seem like a letdown.

Still, flunking out of school would be the cherry on top of a god-awful year, so he'd rather avoid that if possible. Which is why, after school on Friday, he finds himself in the library with Malia. It had been her idea, actually, which had been a pleasant surprise; she has yet to understand the importance of not failing school, so it's up to Stiles and the rest of the pack to make sure she keeps doing her homework. And turning up to school – she also hasn't quite managed to fall back into the five-day week yet. Whenever anyone calls her out on not showing up to school she just tells them that _in the wild it doesn't matter if it's a Tuesday or a Sunday – if you're hungry, you eat, if you're tired, you sleep._

If he's honest, Stiles can sort of see the appeal of a life like that. He would never consider running away into the woods with her – despite her occasional jokes (he hopes she's joking) along those lines – but it would be nice to forget the days of the week, the assessment schedule, heck, even the lacrosse training system. He's out on the field three days a week, even though the season hasn't technically started yet.

"I don't get it," Malia says, flipping a textbook over and glaring at the cover.

Stiles looks over at the book. "It's physics, Malia, and you're not going to get it unless you -"

"No, not that," she says, slapping her hand against the title. "That." She points to the book, and Stiles tries to follow her train of thought. He gives up.

"You lost me," he says, taking the book from her and flicking to the first page. "What don't you get?"

"I don't get why I can't just take the book," she grumbles. "If I was in the wild -"

"But you're not," Stiles interrupts, for what feels like the hundredth time that day, and the millionth time that week. "Other people need to use the book, so if you want to take it home, you have to check it out."

Malia sighs heavily. "I still don't see why I can't just take it."

Stiles rolls his eyes and chooses not to answer. They keep studying for a few more minutes, but he can sense Malia getting restless. Normally this is the point where he'd hand her over to Scott for some alpha-Zen-sensei training, but he knows that Scott and Kira are going on a date tonight and he doesn't want to disturb them. He also knows that if he tries to force Malia to study any more, she'll probably just coyote out and end up attacking the librarian or something.

"All right," he says, closing his book and looking at her. "I think I've read as much about Newton's laws as I can take for today."

Malia's eyes brighten. "Does that mean we can stop studying?"

"For now," he says carefully, knowing that if he gives her the chance she'll never study again.

"So what do we do now?" she asks, already stacking her books and shoving her pens back into her bag.

Stiles starts packing up too, and he's suddenly very aware that they're the only people left in the library, aside from the librarian – who's right up the front of the library, so far away that there's no way she'd be able to hear them. Stiles grins, and Malia leans in. But just as their lips meet, a low growl escapes her throat. Pulling back, Stiles looks at her in concern.

Her features are still human, but her claws are out and her eyes are bright blue.

"Okay," he says slowly, careful not to startle her. They've been through this before and he knows how to handle it, but that doesn't mean it's not still scary. "Malia, look at me. Take a deep breath, okay? One deep breath."

She obliges, and slowly her nails fade back to their human size.

"One more," Stiles says, watching her carefully. She takes another deep breath, almost exaggerated, and then she closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're back to their normal shade. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, realizing for the first time how on edge he'd been. "There we go," he says soothingly.

Malia takes another deep breath, giving him an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she says sheepishly.

"Hey," Stiles says, knowing she's about to start feeling bad for something that didn't even happen, "don't worry about it."

Crisis averted, they keep packing up. Since anything romantic seems out of the question, Stiles comes up with another activity. Malia doesn't seem thrilled, but he talks her into it.

"I need someone to practice with," he says, leading the way to the locker room so he can get his lacrosse stick. He tosses her a spare one and grabs a ball. "Scott was better than me even before the whole werewolf thing, and now he's just unfairly good at everything."

"And what, you think I'm not going to be good at this?" she asks, holding up the stick.

Stiles doesn't answer. She'll probably be better than him anyway, even without the werecoyote reflexes, but he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction of telling her that. "It's not about being good," he says as they head out of the locker room, "it's about learning control. Now's the perfect time, when there isn't anyone else around."

Malia comes to a stop in the doorway, holding the stick loosely by her side. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Having no one else around?"

"Sure," Stiles says, coming to a stop and turning to look at her. Seeing that she's still hesitant, he comes back to her. "I did this with Scott, back when he was first learning to control the change."

"And you're sure this works?" she asks again, and Stiles can see some of her reservations melt away.

"I promise," he says, taking her hand and starting to lead her down the hall.

Just as they step outside, Stiles runs into someone. Literally. He stumbles back a step, letting go of Malia but somehow managing to grip onto his lacrosse stick even tighter. He's halfway through an apology before he even realizes who's standing in front of him.

Lydia looks at him, and then at Malia, and then at the lacrosse sticks they're both carrying. Then she mumbles an apology and tries to slip past them. Stiles hesitates, glancing between Malia and Lydia.

"Go out to the field," he says at last, handing her his stick. "I'll meet you out there."

Malia narrows her eyes. "I don't want her coming with us," she says.

"She won't," Stiles replies without giving himself time to think about it. He waits until Malia starts walking off before he ducks back into the school and jogs after Lydia. She doesn't slow down as he reaches her. In fact she doesn't even seem aware of his presence, and she actually jumps when he rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Woah," he says as she comes to an abrupt stop and whirls around to face him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"Oh," she says faintly. "Stiles."

There's something _off_ about her, but he can't figure out what it is. She's not looking him directly in the eye, but he's used to that – nobody really looks him in the eye anymore, not after the nogitsune. He figures they're scared of what they'll see, or what they won't. Like there'll be some part of him missing, some part he can't get back. He doesn't blame them.

"Listen, about last night," he says, and something flashes through her eyes, something like hope, although he's not sure why that would be – or whether it's even there, because he doubts any of them really have hope anymore.

"Yeah?" she asks, her voice still softer than usual.

"Malia said she might have accidentally left her pen in your car," Stiles says. "Do you think you could look for it?"

"Her pen," Lydia echoes, and she looks faintly disgusted. "Why would she bring a pen with her?"

Stiles shrugs, beyond trying to explain Malia's idiosyncrasies to people who don't spend much time with her. "It's her favorite pen," he explains. "She takes it everywhere. So can you look for it?"

"Yeah," she says, turning to go, "I'll look for it."

For a second he considers letting her go, but at the last moment he grabs her arm to stop her. She lets out a gasp of pain and Stiles lets go at once, startled. "Lydia, what's wrong?"

"Like you care," she says curtly, moving forward again.

He steps in front of her, cutting her off. "Lydia, what the hell is going on?" He watches as her hand drifts to her side, like she's in pain. "Are you hurt?"

The same emotion – hope? – passes through her eyes, but it fades away to leave something colder, something more distant. "Yes," she says stiffly, but she doesn't elaborate.

"Why didn't you say something?" Stiles asks, his voice caught somewhere between anger and concern.

"It wouldn't have made a difference." Lydia folds her arms across her chest, seeming simultaneously vulnerable and closed off. "Let's just forget about it."

"You should at least tell Scott," Stiles urges, but she shakes her head resolutely. He sighs. "How did it even happen?"

Lydia's gaze hardens, and Stiles is reminded of a time before they were friends, before they were pack mates – back when she still terrified him, even when she was ignoring him. He feels suddenly very small. "It happened," she says, "while I was staying out of the way."

Something about her words makes Stiles flinch, and then he realizes what it is. She's echoing what Malia had said, what he himself had said. And she seems pissed. "Are you – are you angry at me?"

"I don't know, Stiles," she snaps. "How should I know anything? I'm just a – just a damsel in distress."

That's not a label that's ever been applied to Lydia, especially not by her, and Stiles finds himself taken aback. "I was trying to protect you," he protests, trying to understand where her anger is coming from.

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't _need_ protection?" she shoots back, her voice cracking like she's trying not to cry.

Stiles is so not equipped to handle this, which is why he finds himself saying, "Yes, you do!"

This is exactly the wrong thing to say, because Lydia's entire manner changes. She's no longer vulnerable in the least; she's _furious_. "Despite what you all may think," she says, her voice almost like a snarl, "I don't need protection. I can take care of myself, and I don't need you looking out for me all the time."

"But you're not -" Stiles starts to say.

"Not what, Stiles?" Lydia interrupts harshly. "Not a werewolf or werecoyote or goddamn kitsune? Newsflash: _neither are you_. In fact, you're the only human in this screwed up pack, so maybe _you're_ the one who needs protection -"

"Do I really need to remind you that the only other human to ever run with this pack is _dead_?" Stiles snaps, and as soon as he says it he knows he shouldn't have. But he can't take it back.

Lydia actually gasps, and the pain that crosses her face is almost unbearable. But just as quickly it fades and her eyes are blazing, and before Stiles can react her hand darts out. He braces himself, expecting her to slap him (and hell, he probably deserves it), but at the last second she just curls her fist, withdraws her hand, and huffs. Then, without a word, she turns and marches away, the sound of her heels echoing in Stiles' ears.

"Hey," calls a voice from the doorway, "are you coming?"

Stiles watches Lydia go, and then he turns back to Malia. It seems strange that Malia, who spent eight years as a freaking coyote, is easier to understand than Lydia, someone he's known for years. But he'd rather deal with Malia's animal instincts and out-of-control shifting than Lydia's mood swings and cryptic comments. So he pushes the strawberry blonde from his mind and heads outside to Malia, and they spend the next hour working on his lacrosse and her self-control.

As they walk back to the school after practice he has the strange feeling that someone's watching them. He chalks it up to residual stress and spends the night at Malia's house teaching her how to play Monopoly.

Sometimes even sidekicks need a break.

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**Next chapter something big happens, so stay tuned and I'll see you all next week.**

**(Also sorry for this chapter; it was necessary, I promise.)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey wolflets, and thanks for the reviews last time. Warning for this chapter: it's a little bit graphic (blood and death and stuff) so be careful if you choose to read on. That's about it, so enjoy the chapter and I'll see you whenever.**

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Bad things come in threes, which Lydia takes as a hopeful sign. She'll take any hopeful omens she can get, actually, given that she's yet again standing in a pool of blood. Last night, after she'd had the run-in with Stiles at the school, she'd done everything she could to relax – a warm bath, scented candles, the whole nine yards. It had worked for a while, until the second she closed her eyes. Then she was plunged into a nightmare so vivid she's not sure it didn't actually happen. It had started the same way they always did, with the night at Oak Creek. The night Allison had died.

But the nightmare hadn't ended with her death like it usually did. This time Lydia found herself standing over Allison's body, still screaming, and the next second she woke up in bed. Only she wasn't really awake, she was just deeper into her dream. And she'd seen things in her room – shadowy shapes, flickers of light. She could hear a low growl, and she saw something in the corner of the room, some kind of – well, _monster_ was the word that came to mind. It was vaguely human but too indistinct to make out any defining features. And somehow after that she'd managed to fall asleep.

Only to wake up in the cemetery, yet again. This is becoming a dangerously regular occurrence, so on her walk back home this time she'd made a mental note to take some sleeping tablets tonight. There should be plenty left in her mom's medicine cabinet; she shouldn't miss a couple. Or a handful.

So that was two bad things, and she'd almost been expecting a third. She had not, however, been expecting this. By this point she really should be, given how out-of-control her banshee powers have been lately. And even how dangerous they were before then, because dealing with this has never exactly been easy. It just never used to be so hard.

She's not sure where she is now, but it looks to be around the back of some kind of apartment building. This is the third bad thing, and she has to hope it's the last one, because she really can't handle any more. Especially on her own. She'd come to her senses a few minutes ago, and has since been trying to process the gruesome sight in front of her.

No matter how long she's a banshee, no matter how many dead bodies she finds, she'll never get used to this. It's always different, always traumatizing, and it always leaves her feeling sick to the stomach. Still, this time is even worse than usual, if that's possible. The victim is a girl, around her age; she thinks she might have even seen her around school before. And she's lying in a pool of blood, stemming from her chest – because her heart has been ripped clean out of it.

Holding a hand to her mouth, Lydia steps back, searching for a street sign, some indication of where she is. Finding it – and surprised to see that she's almost halfway across town – she pulls her phone out. She remembers another time, another body; and Stiles, telling her to _always call him first. _So she does. What she hadn't considered is that he might not answer. Which he doesn't.

As she hangs up she realizes that her fingers are actually shaking, and it's not because it's cold. It's because, for the first time she can remember, Stiles Stilinski has let her down. She's never needed him as much as she does now, and she can't even get a hold of him. She can remember a time when she wouldn't even need to call him; he'd just know she wasn't okay and be by her side in an instant. She wonders if screaming is what it would take to get his attention.

As soon as she can force her fingers to move properly, she dials Scott's number instead. He picks up on the second ring; she can hear Kira's voice in the background, sleepily asking if he's okay.

"Lydia?" Scott asks, sounding almost annoyed. It hadn't occurred to her to check what time it is; she'd been too distracted by the pool of blood. Now she pulls her cell away from her ear and looks at the time; it's five am. She feels a slight pang at the fact that this means Kira must have slept over at Scott's house; Lydia can't remember the last time someone stayed over at hers. "What is it?"

Anger flashes through her, but she pushes it away. "It happened again," she says simply, and by the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line she knows he understands.

"Where are you?"

She can hear him already getting ready, while Kira mumbles sleepy protests. Then she hears him tell her what's going on – _it's Lydia, something happened _– and the protests stop. Lydia quickly recites her location, and Scott hangs up after promising to be there soon.

It takes Scott five minutes to get there, but it's enough to push Lydia over the edge. When he arrives she's as far away from the body as she can be without losing sight of it, and she's sitting with her back against the wall, her head resting on her knees. The smell of blood is almost overwhelming, and she takes back her earlier desire for werewolf super-healing; if the price is being able to smell everything more strongly, she wouldn't want it. She feels sick enough as it is.

When Scott shows up he takes one look at her and blanches. "Lydia?" he says as he approaches, his voice low like he's worried he'll startle her. Like she's about to take off.

"I'm okay," she says, as briskly as she can manage. The words come out strangled, though, and she ducks her head slightly. "Over there," she says, pointing at the body behind her.

"Stay here," Scott says to Kira, who seems only too happy to obey.

While Scott goes to investigate, Kira guides Lydia back to his car. As soon as Lydia's sitting down she feels slightly better, but not much. The smell of blood sticks in her throat and she almost feels like she's choking on it.

"What happened?" Kira asks, placing a sympathetic hand on Lydia's shoulder.

Lydia lifts her shoulder up in a half-shrug. "Same thing as always," she says softly, trying to block the image of the dead girl from her mind. "I went to sleep, and when I woke up I was here. With…" She gestures vaguely to the direction of the body.

"I'm sorry," Kira says, and it sounds like she means it.

For a moment Lydia's tempted to open up, to talk to her like she would have done with her best friend. There are so many things she wants to say, so many things she needs to tell someone, but something stops her. They fall silent as they wait for Scott to come back, and Lydia's mind is swirling with all the words she can't bring herself to say.

When Scott returns, his face is grim. He slides into the front seat and pulls out his phone.

Lydia finds her voice. "If you're going to call Stiles, don't bother." When Scott turns back to her she explains, "I already tried. He didn't answer."

Scott tries anyway, and sure enough, Stiles doesn't answer. This makes Lydia feel slightly better, since she'd been starting to think he was mad at her after their argument at school. So he's not just ignoring her.

"We need the whole pack here," Scott says, and Lydia doesn't understand his apologetic look until he adds, "Cover your ears."

Lydia and Kira do, and a second later Scott howls. It's the kind of howl that will draw his pack to him, the kind of howl that nobody will be able to ignore. And sure enough, in a couple minutes Ethan and Isaac show up, and even Derek makes an appearance. The others get out of the car and go to join the rest of the pack near the body. Lydia tries not to think about how often their pack meetings seem to happen in the presence of dead bodies.

Scott makes an executive decision and calls the Sheriff, which means they only have a few minutes until the police show up. Lydia watches quietly as Scott falls into alpha mode, a role that seems to fit him more and more each time he steps into it.

"Okay, Derek, Ethan, Isaac – can you try and follow the blood trail? Whoever did this might have picked up enough traces for you to be able to track," Scott instructs. The three betas dips their heads and start moving, spreading out to cover more ground and try to find the killer.

"What can I do?" Kira asks, doing her best not to look at the body.

"Stay here and talk to the police," Scott says. "And wait for the others to turn up. I'm going to go talk to Deaton, see if he knows what might be going on."

Scott seems like he's about to leave, so Lydia cuts in. "And me?"

He turns to her. "You've done your part," he says, and she knows he's trying to be gentle but it rubs her the wrong way.

Before she can say anything, the rest of the pack shows up. Stiles steps out of his Jeep and then opens the door for Malia, holding it open while she gets out too. They make their way over to the pack together, and Lydia tries not to notice the way Malia's hand is wrapped around Stiles' waist.

"What happened?" Stiles asks as he reaches them.

Instead of answering, Scott glares at the two newcomers. "The better question is: where were you?"

Stiles balks, not used to be addressed with such harsh tones. Especially not from Scott, who's somehow stayed soft, gentle, even after all of this. "We were at my house," Stiles says. "I must have turned my phone off -"

"Don't," Scott interrupts, and Stiles' words shudder to a stop, "_ever_ turn your phone off. We need to be able to reach each other at any time. Okay?"

"Y-yeah," Stiles says quickly, still seeming embarrassed by the admittedly mild rebuke. Malia, however, seems annoyed, like she's trying to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "Sorry."

Scott's anger – if it could even be called that – disappears. "It's fine. Your dad's going to be here, so you can wait with the girls for him to show up, or you can come with me to see Deaton."

Stiles looks over at the body, noticing it for the first time, and he goes pale. "We'll come with you," he says.

"Okay," Scott says, nodding. "Kira, Lydia, are you guys okay to wait here for the Sheriff?"

"We'll be fine," Kira says, and Scott kisses her on the cheek before heading back to the Jeep with Stiles and Malia.

As soon as it's just the two of them, Lydia finds herself breaking down. It's not a full breakdown, not cataclysmic; it's just a single sob, one that gets caught in her throat. But Kira notices it and concern darkens her features.

"Lydia," she says gently, "what's really going on?"

The banshee just shakes her head as they go back to the car to wait for the Sheriff. Kira doesn't ask again, but she does produce a small packet of tissues from her pocket, which she hands over to her. Lydia takes them with a grateful, albeit tearful, smile.

"He used to look at me like that, you know," Lydia says after a while, and Kira doesn't pretend to misunderstand.

"But that was before… everything?"

Lydia nods. Everything. The nogitsune; Aiden; Allison. "He hasn't really looked at me since."

Kira pauses, mulling it over. "Have you looked at him?"

Lydia doesn't get a chance to answer because at that moment the Sheriff shows up, and it's back to the familiar routine of answering questions and explaining how the hell she ended up at yet another crime scene. But once that's over, once the Sheriff has delegated all the right tasks to his deputy and the other officer who came with him, he looks at Lydia. Really looks at her. And he asks, "Are you okay?"

She's so startled by the question that she doesn't answer. The Sheriff seems to take that for an answer anyway, because he reaches forward and hugs her; gently, tentatively, but it's just enough to cause Lydia to break. She'd forgotten what it was like to be vulnerable, to be comforted. She may not be a damsel in distress, but it doesn't hurt to be reassured sometimes.

As she pulls away from the Sheriff, Lydia takes one last look at the crime scene. And feels her heart slam to a stop. There, silhouetted against the red and blue flashing lights of the Sheriff's wagon, is a familiar figure.

The one from her nightmare. Only this time, she can see not only the animal-like skin and the elongated claws. She can see their face. Every feature, each one like a blow to the heart.

Because standing in front of her is none other than Kate Argent.

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**Don't forget to review; I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow. I'm so in awe of the response I got last chapter that I'm going to keep my AN super short.**

**Thanks, enjoy, review.**

**Here you go.**

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It's almost seven am by the time they make it to Deaton's clinic, and Stiles is so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open. Malia had kept him up almost all night, talking about everything from werewolves to nail polish to trigonometry – none of which he's exactly an expert in. But she's making more of an effort to fit into human society, and that involves knowing everything she can about it. The only problem is that everything she learns seems to annoy her, and although Stiles shares her hatred of trig, he doesn't understand her disdain for drive-in movie theaters.

Scott seems tired too, but he doesn't say anything. He just leans back in his seat and stares out the front window, and for the first time in a long time Stiles isn't sure what to say to him. He and Scott had made their amends after what happened with the nogitsune. They'd spent a lot of time together after Allison's funeral – Scott because he was scared the guilt might cause Stiles to do something stupid, Stiles because he was worried Allison's death might cause Scott to break. Somehow they'd gotten through it, and they're still going on. Still moving forward, no matter how much it hurts.

It especially hurts that they're moving forward into yet another supernatural mystery. He'd thought the rival werewolf pack would have been the last of their worries, since they usually get a bit of a break in between disasters, but apparently in this – as with many other things – he was mistaken.

The plan is to use Scott's spare key to get into Deaton's clinic, call him, and wait for him there. The clinic has become like a sanctuary for the pack, and god, Stiles could use a place where he feels safe. Even his own house doesn't feel safe anymore, although he can't quite pinpoint why. Scott's halfway through calling Deaton even as they step through the door, which is why they're all surprised to see Deaton already standing at the reception desk.

"Geez," Stiles exclaims, "do you live here or something?"

Deaton just smiles, as serene as ever, although Stiles can see that he's still tense. The vet beckons them all into the back room without a word, and as soon as the door closes behind them, Scott starts explaining what happened. Deaton listens quietly, his expression growing more and more grave.

Stiles turns his attention to Malia, who's hanging around near one of the cabinets. She's running her fingers along the lock. Her fingers still when Stiles approaches, but she doesn't turn to face him.

"Nothing's locked in the woods," she says. "It's all just – there. You want it, you take it."

She sounds faintly puzzled, and Stiles takes a moment to try to get into her headspace. He has this problem a lot – whenever she says something coyote-ish, he has to stop to think about where she's coming from. If he's honest, this is more tiring than he lets on, but nobody else in the pack seems to want to take the job on. So it's just him and Malia – all the time.

"Things are different here," he says, for what feels like the tenth time this week. "You know that. We have rules, and -"

"- restrictions," she finishes grimly. Her gaze shifts to a couple of the animal crates in the other corner of the room. "And cages."

There's so much resentment in her voice that Stiles is taken aback. He tries to think of something comforting to say, but he draws a blank. Not for the first time.

She turns to him now, before he can come up with a response. "I just don't like being cooped up," she says softly.

Stiles nods; this he can understand. "After this, why don't we get out of here for a bit? Go for a walk or something."

"I'd like that," she says, intertwining her fingers with his. She even gives him a smile, but there's something about it that doesn't feel right.

The two of them make their way back to Deaton and Scott, who are leaning on the counter and talking in hushed voices.

"It didn't smell like anyone I know," Scott's saying, "but it's – there was so much blood."

He wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Stiles is yet again glad he refused Peter's offer of the bite. Having super-senses would probably be all fun and games in somewhere other than Beacon Hills, but there's too much blood and too many bodies here. And even his dulled-down human senses think those smell bad.

"But there was something there?" Deaton presses.

Scott frowns in concentration, and Stiles notices that he's turning something over in his hands. It looks like an old penny, but Scott's staring at it like it's a crystal ball.

"Hey," Stiles says, inclining his head toward it, "what is that?"

Scott looks up, startled, like he hadn't expected someone to notice. "It's nothing," he says, laying it flat on the counter. When Stiles keeps looking at him, Scott sighs. "It's a souvenir penny," he explains. "My dad got it for me at our last father-son bonding day."

Stiles knows Scott well enough to know that something's bothering him, but he's not sure what it is. Scott hasn't had the best relationship with his father, but in recent weeks it had seemed like they were reconciling. His dad had even started a weekly father-son bonding session, when he'd take Scott to museums and basketball games and anything else he thought he'd like. Scott didn't have the heart to tell him that what he really wanted was to spend his weekends catching up on sleep.

"Anyway," Scott says, putting the coin in his pocket and looking at Deaton again, "I think there was something there – a really faint scent, beneath all the blood. It was… it was kind of familiar, but I couldn't really place it."

Deaton nods thoughtfully, and Stiles waits for some kind of deep insight or helpful tip. But instead Deaton says, "And how's Lydia doing?"

The question takes them all by surprise. Malia's eyes narrow, and Scott and Stiles share a look.

"Lydia?" Stiles echoes, confused. "She's fine. Why wouldn't she be?"

Deaton tilts his head, looking at the three teens in front of him. "It sounds like her banshee powers are surfacing again," he says cautiously, "which hasn't exactly boded well in the past. Is she coping with it more easily this time?"

Stiles thinks back to when he'd arrived at the crime scene. In all honesty he hadn't paid much attention to Lydia, because he'd been so focused on the dead body. "She seems fine," he says, although he's suddenly not so sure. He shoots a look at Scott.

"She hasn't said anything to me," the alpha says. "And she didn't seem… I mean, she seemed okay." His words trail off, like it's a question rather than a statement.

Deaton nods, but it doesn't seem like he's incredibly satisfied with the answer. Something occurs to Stiles, and he's not quick enough to cover up his expression of realization. Scott raises his eyebrows questioningly at him, and after a brief hesitation Stiles says, "I mean, she's injured, but -"

"What," Scott interrupts, an exclamation more than a question. He looks from Stiles to Malia and back again. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Stiles says defensively. "She wouldn't talk to me about it."

"She probably just got hurt in the fight the other day," Malia says nonchalantly.

Scott's shoulders tense and he looks at the werecoyote with an expression somewhere between concern and annoyance. "Are you sure? She didn't say anything to me," Scott says, still frowning.

"Maybe you didn't give her a chance to," Deaton says, but before either of the boys can respond, Malia takes charge of the conversation.

"Look, she'll be fine," she says bluntly, "but that girl we found in the alley isn't."

It's a sobering thought, and although Stiles knows they should talk about this, for now the murder takes priority. Scott seems to be thinking the same thing, because he nods and addresses Deaton again. "Okay. So, do you have any idea what this could be?"

The vet considers his answer carefully. "Since Lydia showed up there, I'd hazard a guess and say it's supernatural in some way," he says, and the others all nod or murmur their agreement. "And from the sounds of it, it wasn't premeditated. The way you described the injuries made it sound – well, violent."

"Like something done in the spur of the moment," Stiles says, and Deaton nods.

"Exactly. With the darach, all the murders were very precise, each one planned out and executed with a sense of purpose." The vet pauses, and Stiles finds his mind drifting back to the string of ritual sacrifices committed by the darach. Stiles shudders. "But this sounds more… primal."

"Like they couldn't control it," Scott says slowly. Then he looks up at the others, alarm flashing in his eyes. "What kind of creature do we know that would be unable to control their powers?"

It doesn't take long for Stiles to catch onto his train of thought. "A newly turned werewolf," he says, and Scott's grim expression is confirmation enough. "Remember for your first few full moons, you were scared you were going to do something?"

"You mean wolf out and kill all my friends?" Scott says darkly. "Yeah, I remember that."

"Right," Stiles says, "and if you hadn't found a way to control it, you might have actually done it."

"So you think we're looking for a new werewolf," Scott says. He glances at Deaton. "What do you think?"

"It's possible," Deaton allows. "It can take a long time to learn to control the change, and if they don't have a mentor or an anchor… well, it could definitely end up like this."

"This is a great theory and all, guys," Malia says, "but there's a slight flaw."

Stiles gives her a questioning look.

Malia points toward the calendar hanging from the wall behind Deaton's head. "Last night wasn't a full moon."

As far as flaws go, it's not fatal – but it doesn't lend credence to their theory.

"Well, the change doesn't only occur on the full moon," Deaton says reasonably. "It can be triggered by a whole host of things – fear, anger, lust."

Scott ducks his head slightly at the last one, but no one mentions it.

"So it could still be a werewolf," Stiles says. "But the question is: how do we find them?"

"When I was first changing, I tended to go after people I knew," Scott says. "So maybe this girl was killed by one of her friends."

"Great," Stiles says, genuinely enthusiastic, until he realizes how bad that sounds. "I mean, not great that she was murdered by her friend, but great that we have a lead."

He trails off, embarrassed, but the others don't seem to notice.

"Which means we should start by figuring out who she is," Scott says.

"I can talk to my dad," Stiles offers. "See if he's got any leads or had any luck with identifying her."

"Good." Scott nods, decisive. "I can go back to the scene and see if I can pick up a scent. Malia, you want to come with me?"

"I'd rather go with Stiles," she says promptly.

Stiles hesitates. "It might be better if you go with Scott -"

"Because you don't want me to come with you?" Malia says, her voice sharp.

"No! It's not like that. I just mean, I can talk to my dad myself. You'd be better off going with Scott."

"But I always go with you," Malia protests.

"Not this time," Stiles says, a little more harshly than he'd meant to. It's partly that he genuinely thinks Malia would be of more use if she went with Scott, and partly because he just wants a break from her. They've been spending all their time together lately, and it turns out that integrating a werecoyote back into society takes a lot of work. "Just go with Scott, okay?"

"But I want to go with you."

"For god's sake, Lydia, just -" Stiles cuts himself off, but he can see the damage has already been done. "Malia," he corrects quickly. "Malia, I -"

"No," she says, stepping back out of reach. She looks at Scott and then at Deaton, and then back at Stiles. Her eyes are steel blue, and Stiles feels himself shrinking under her gaze. "I get it."

Without giving them a chance to respond she turns and darts out the door, leaving a stunned silence behind her.

Stiles lets out a groan, slumping against the counter. "Well," he says bitterly, "I thought that went well."

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**Next chapter Lydia seeks help from an unlikely source (any guesses?) and is given a surprising piece of information. See you all next week. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**I know this isn't my usual update day, but there are two reasons I'm updating today. First, because there was such a good response last chapter - and shoutout to Miss Savvy xoxo for reviewing every chapter in a row, you have no idea how happy that made me. And the second reason is that I'm very dissatisfied with last episode, actually the past few, because _Lydia is part of the pack goddamn it. _I love that she's figuring out her past and learning more about herself and that she's got this whole other storyline going on and whatever, but that doesn't mean she has to be completely peripheral to the pack's story and go off on her own all the time. So yeah, that's my rant for the day. At least in this fic she interacts with people, and reconciling with everyone is endgame.**

**So anyway. Yes. Point is, I'm updating today. Yay. Fun fact: this chapter was kind of not meant to happen. I mean, it was, but the entire middle section came as a surprise. But I couldn't resist adding in a certain badass parent and this seemed the perfect way to do it. Soo, as always, read, review, let me know your thoughts. Annnd, see you all on Monday!**

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It gets worse. It always gets worse, and somehow Lydia's never quite prepared for it. But over the past few weeks she's found three more bodies – all teenage girls, all with their hearts ripped out – and the pack seems to be getting no closer to figuring out what's causing it. Isaac had filled her in on Scott's theory – about it being a newly turned werewolf – and it seems plausible. But she hasn't really had a chance to talk to anyone else in the pack, because she's been so busy dealing with her own things. Her nightmares have been getting more vivid and more frequent, and Kate Argent plays a starring role in most of them. And now Lydia's sure it's her overactive imagination, because Kira hadn't seen her that night.

There is another option, of course. Not imagination, but banshee powers. This is all too familiar, all too real, like the last time a dead person started appearing to her. She can handle the screams, and maybe even finding the body – but helping another psychopath come back to life is where she draws the line. But Kate's been following her around, and not just in her dreams. Sometimes when she's awake, Lydia will catch a glimpse of her – in the halls, out the front of her house. Kate hasn't said anything, not yet, but she looks like she will soon. Like she's waiting for the right moment.

And of course the pack is all busy doing their own things too, so Lydia hasn't told them about what's been going on with her. She'd tried to talk to Scott a couple times, but there was this worried look in his eye and she'd backtracked before giving too much away. Something's bothering him, and she doesn't want to add to that. She's barely even seen Stiles at all; he's too busy with Malia. And the others, although they try, just don't get it. They haven't been here from the start; they weren't with her through Peter, through the kanima, through everything that's happened. They don't get it.

But the most alarming thing about the past couple weeks is that the wound Lydia had sustained in the fight with the werewolves hasn't healed. It's starting to, but even without werewolf super-healing it should be getting better more quickly. It still hurts, and a couple times she's even considered going to one of the wolves in the pack and asking them to take some of her pain. But she's seen the look in their eyes when they use that ability – like the pain is seeping into their blood instead. She can't ask them to do that.

Which is why, late one Tuesday afternoon, Lydia finds herself on the front porch of the McCall house. She hesitates before giving three sharp raps on the door. She'll give herself twenty seconds, she decides, before she cuts her losses and leaves. But the door opens after only ten, and there stands Melissa McCall.

Melissa's eyes widen when she sees Lydia; it's not often that the strawberry blonde shows up at her house outside of disasters or pack meetings. "Lydia," she greets her, confusion underlying her words. "Scott's not here, but he should be -"

"It's okay." Lydia feels a stab of guilt over interrupting, but Melissa's expression softens. "I actually – I mean, I came here to see you."

Although she's still confused, Melissa takes it in her stride. "Of course," she says at once, stepping back to let Lydia enter the house.

Lydia's not used to being here without Scott or Stiles – or Allison – and it feels strange to follow Melissa down the hall by herself. They settle down in the living room, Lydia on the couch and Melissa on a chair in front of her. The older woman is looking at her intently, curiously, and Lydia knows she's aware that something's wrong. But Lydia doesn't know how to explain it.

"I need to talk to you about something," she says slowly, and Melissa gives her an encouraging nod. "But before I do, I need you to promise something."

"What is it?" Melissa smooths the sleeves of her scrubs – it looks like she's only just finished a shift at the hospital – and waits expectantly.

"You need to promise that you won't tell Scott," Lydia says, all in a rush like that will make it easier. It doesn't, and by the way Melissa's brow furrows, Lydia can tell she's getting suspicious. "Please," she says, and it actually does sound like a plea. She's still not used to feeling so vulnerable, but she doesn't know where else to turn.

Melissa hesitates. "Why – why do you not want me to tell Scott?"

"I don't want to worry him." Lydia crosses one leg over the other, trying to seem nonchalant, but it's a feeble attempt at best. "I just… he's got a lot going on, and I don't want to make it worse. But I can't – I can't do this on my own."

"Okay," Melissa says, her voice even more soothing in response to Lydia's increasing agitation, "okay. I won't tell Scott. Just talk to me, yeah? Tell me what's going on."

Instead of talking, Lydia lifts up her shirt, revealing the hastily-bandaged wound. She doesn't look up, but she can hear Melissa's sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" Melissa breathes, crouching down in front of her. She raises her eyebrows in question and Lydia nods; Melissa removes the bandage and makes a visible effort trying not to wince when she sees what's underneath. "Lydia, this is -"

"I know," she says, and she's horrified to find that she's almost crying. She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and tries to smile at Melissa. "It looks a lot worse than it is, I promise. It's just not healing very quickly, and I'd like someone to look at it."

Melissa nods, letting her nurse instincts take control. She keeps shooting concerned glances at Lydia while she checks and redresses the wound, after applying some kind of mint-scented balm to it. As she packs away her supplies she says, "Medically, it doesn't seem too bad. Although it looks quite recent – how long ago did it happen?"

"Almost a month."

Melissa almost drops the cloth she's holding. "A month?" she echoes in shock. "It should really be more healed after such a long time. How did you say it -"

"I didn't." Lydia's original plan had been to reveal as little as possible, but that doesn't seem to be working now. She sighs. "It was in the fight with those werewolves, the pack that was trying to take over."

Melissa nods, clearly remembering it. Then her gaze sharpens. "And Scott doesn't know about this?"

Lydia shakes her head, suddenly alarmed. "No. And please, you can't tell him -"

"I won't," Melissa promises, "but _you_ should."

Again, Lydia shakes her head. Melissa purses her lips but doesn't say anything else, and somehow – neither of them are entirely sure how – Lydia ends up staying for dinner. They deliberately avoid talking about the supernatural; they talk about anything else. Scott called to say he's staying at Stiles' tonight, and Melissa says she's enjoying Lydia's company. And, if she's honest, Lydia is enjoying her company too. As they finish up their meal, Melissa reminds Lydia to keep applying the balm on the wound every day, and to change the bandages regularly. And to come back to her if it's not better within a week.

Lydia thanks her at the door, and Melissa asks if she wants to stay the night.

"There's plenty of room," Melissa says with a smile. "You're welcome any time."

"Thanks," Lydia says, offering her a smile in return, "but I shouldn't."

Melissa nods in understanding. "Well, the door's always open."

On the drive home, Lydia thinks about how quickly things can change, how quickly everything can be lost. How quickly her house stopped feeling like a home and her friends stopped feeling like family.

She wakes up exactly at midnight, and she realizes at once that she's not alone. She shoots bolt upright, wrapping the bedcovers closer around her. Kate Argent is standing in the corner of the room, a silky smile on her face and what looks like a knife in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" Lydia asks, her words trembling and her heart hammering in her chest. Instinctively she reaches for her phone, but Kate's smile just widens.

"Looking for this?" Kate smirks, holding up Lydia's cell. Then she tosses it out the open window.

At times like these, Lydia wishes she could control her banshee powers. A single banshee scream would bring most of the pack here in a heartbeat, but she can't control it yet. And she can't for the life of her think of a way out of this.

"Relax, Lydia," Kate says, tucking the knife into a pouch on her belt. "I'm just here to talk."

A thousand sharp and witty responses dash through Lydia's head, but somehow she settles on, "We have nothing to talk about."

"Don't we?" Kate tilts her head, mock-thoughtful. "I think we have one very important thing to talk about, Lydia."

She doesn't have to say her name for Lydia to know who she's talking about. Cold fear snakes down Lydia's spine as she stares at the person in front of her. No, not the person – the ghost.

"I'm not helping you come back from the dead," she says, trying to dispel the last traces of sleep from her mind so she can come up with a way to get out of this.

"And I'm not asking you to." Kate flounces over and perches on the end of Lydia's bed, still looking at the banshee with apparent interest – and something close to disappointment. "I don't need your help, Lydia. Actually, I came here to help _you_."

"How could you possibly help me?" Lydia's words come out a lot more broken than she'd hoped, but she's too scared to care.

Kate's smiling again, a horrible animal-like grin that makes her look deadly. "The one who's been killing all those girls," she says, waiting for Lydia's gasp of surprise, "they're closer than you think."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Lydia's heart is beginning to slow down, and although it goes against everything she'd been told, she finds herself wanting – needing – to trust Kate.

The hunter doesn't give her a direct answer. Instead she gets to her feet, dusts off the blood-covered jeans she's wearing, and shrugs. "The woods outside the cemetery," she says simply, and then she heads for the open window.

"Wait -" Lydia shouts, flinging the covers off and jumping to her feet –

- only to trip over a tombstone. With mounting horror she looks down and sees the cold stone beneath her. And when she looks up, she finds that she's in the cemetery. Again. Her head aches and her mouth tastes like lavender, and a brisk wind ruffles the hem of her pajama pants.

"Damn it," she mutters, turning around to begin the long walk home, yet again. But she stops when she catches sight of something in the woods. A shape, moving quickly through the trees. From this distance it looks human, but it's Beacon Hills so it's definitely not a given. Something compels Lydia to move forward, even though her feet feel frozen and her teeth are actually chattering.

When she reaches the shelter of the trees she sees the person – and she knows them.

"Hey!" she calls, but the person doesn't respond. They just look up at the sky, and then down at the ground. And Lydia can see that there's blood all down the person's shirt – and face, and arms. She feels sick. "Wait!" she tries again, but the person just disappears farther into the trees.

Without thinking Lydia hurries after them, because she needs to catch up to her.

She needs to get to Malia.

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**Okay. Next chapter is one of my favorites, even though it might be a little hard to read and make you want to slap people: Scott and Stiles go to visit an old friend, and Malia treads on a lot of toes. Any theories about who they go to see, or what Malia's up to, or for that matter what Kate's plan is? I'd love to hear from you all!**


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